As Yet Untitled Suggestions appreciated :
by Zanthe13
Summary: Discard the 6th & 7th books! This is a new story I'm working on, which should turn out as an epic, hopefully :s Harry follows the fleeing Dark Lord in a quest to destroy the man who left him nothing to live for. not a Super!Harry fic. open to suggestion


This is planned to be a beast of a story. I've never undertaken a piece that was longer than twelve pages. I cant even promise that I'll finish this. I discard the 7th book. It had its moments, but I didn't like it terribly. This picks up a short while later. I don't know quite where I'm going with this yet, so bear with me please. Anyway, enjoy, and please- any suggestions for a title would be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1: Seeking Refuge in Russia

Harry woke. A thin juddering whirr above his head was the only sign of movement, as the metallic ceiling two inches from his face vibrated lightly. The cold metal soothed his aching temples as he pressed his forehead against it, the back of his neck straining to support his head, and his glasses slightly askew as he became more aware of himself. Moving slowly, as not to injure himself, he grasped feebly at his sides. Nothing met his hand until his bound and gloved knuckles brushed against another cool, flat, mental surface. He sighed, the breath crystallizing in his filmy glasses.

Russia. The final frontier. It all rushed back at him, like the train he was- and he used the term loosely- 'boarded'. The last of the coal and oil cargo transported through Europe under the heaviest of security, and yet the very militants protecting the armoured vessel were unaware of the false bottoms to many of the compartments, used to ferry illegal goods and smuggle people in- and out- of the stronghold of Russia. This is where he was, trapped in a steel box, hidden under 120 tonnes of coal, with little chance of living if the contact at the other end was indisposed. He doubted that though, which is what worried Harry, and strangely what permitted him to sleep again.

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Roughly awoken by thick Russian voices shouting, Harry had little choice but to lie on his back. He felt totally exposed, stomach and chest bared to anyone who knew of the compartment, which did little to alleviate his anxiety. Thankfully, the concealed rectangle which held him was undisturbed, even as he felt the entire cargo train-car tilt, roiling him boisterously onto his left side, crushing his arm under his own body weight against the now-freezing metal of the wall. The clat-clatter of the contents of the cargo eventually rumbled down to silent, a large motor engine roared into life, and the calling voices rolled to a heavy, well-paced workman's chant, gradually fading into the distance.

The tight, constricting ball of fear in Harry's chest tightened to a point where he found it hard to breathe. The compartment was tiny. He couldn't move. It was dark. He was cold. The last time he had eaten was a hearty meal a few days prior, and a weak gruel (he snorted to himself, if only to impede the unstoppable panic attack- the gruel was more like stone soup) the morning before.

A few minutes of breathless terror, and Harry succumbed to the claustrophobia, fainting dead away.

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Grigori was, as his mother carefully named him to be, a watcher. However, Grigori was not blessed enough to have enough brain to match his observation skill. He knew this, and in his humble opinion (for he truly was modest), it was better to know you didn't know something than to think you were clever when you weren't. Something had been turning in his mind slowly a lot the past few weeks. Supposedly, all the train cars were from the same company, and apparently the same make. So, reasoned Grigori in his mind, why was it that some of the compartments looked just that little bit… lower?

Taking his chance when the other working men began walking towards the gates to the pedestrian vehicles, and tidying up the discarded tools as he went (as was his wont when the work hours ended), Grigori made a measured amble towards the recently-emptied train cars, still left upon the main track. A piercing glance about the trains' yard revealed that all the workers had left. Curiosity overtook him, and after borrowing a ladder, he carefully peered inside the train car.

He was right- there was a section of the floor that looked different. To the casual eye, or any other man unused to working with trains day in day out for ten years and counting, the difference would have been difficult to find- an extra three feet was missing between the inside bottom, and the outside bottom of the train! Recalling that there was a metal hammer he had collected from the work yard in his hasty tidy, he collected it for a further inspection. Knocking gently on the side of the car, he listened closely for a tell-tale hollow ring. A dull thud was returned, confirming his suspicions. Tampering with the trains was illegal, and though it was up to an authority higher than his, it didn't temper his curious streak, as he climbed into the car itself, the walls towering above him. With some well-placed blows, the false panel soon came off revealing three more compartments- the first he uncovered held American cigarettes and razorblades –nothing overly suspicious thought quite pricey in the black market, the second held fabric- reels of quality cotton which was almost as equally as prized as the cigarettes and razors, and the final compartment. He paused at what he saw. The third compartment held a boy, clothed in ragged but moderately warm clothing, curled in a foetal position. The pale face couldn't have been older than seventeen, and it was with trepidation that he prodded the prone form. He seemed too pale, too still…

Suddenly, the young man bolted upright, and it became apparent as to why he was there, hidden with the items destined for an unsanctioned trading post. Staring into the confused and panicked eyes of the youth, shielded somewhat by his damaged glasses, he found himself moved by the restricted future of the boy. A life of slavery, and in a delicate way, the boy was beautiful. Too many things could happen to the youth if he left him to the traders.

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thanks

-z


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